They decided unanimously not to go back to Grievous's ship for more negotiations. If time was of the essence, then even if Grievous was innocent in all of this—which, Anakin hated to admit, was becoming more and more a likely possibility—they had to act now.

Their plan was hastily concocted, and not very thorough, consisting of three basic parts. 1. Fly into the Perlemian Cluster and land on Morav. 2. Get Master Allie. 3. Get the kriff out. No one mentioned what might happen after that, because no one wanted to think of it.

Anakin was the obvious choice for pilot, now that they had to go to manual. Even as he sat behind the controls, not even touching any part of the ship except for the seat, the Force was exploring the ship for him, radar-like, until Anakin knew the ship so well that he felt he could move it as easily and as naturally as he moved his left hand. It had always been like that for him, even on Tatooine. It was a gift, the Masters said.

Drin sat next to him, and Ferus sat behind, craning his neck to see through the viewport. "They were probably serious about the 'destruction of our ship' thing, weren't they?" Drin asked.

"Yeah, probably," Anakin answered, placing his hands on the controls. "The basic plan is to avoid that, though." He started flying at a steady pace, while plotting a hyperspace course. "We can stay in hyperspace until we hit the Cluster," he said. "Then we'll probably have to fly regular speed the rest of the way to Morav, so that'll take a few hours."

As before, they traveled without incident, until they felt that familiar lurch underneath their feet, and that same holo-message appeared.

"Warning. You have attempted to enter a restricted area of Alliance space. It is suggested…"

They paid it no attention.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" Ferus asked, looking forward to the other two. "No turning back after we go in."

"Ah—yes, we are."

Of the three, Ferus was having the hardest time of this. Unlike Drin and Anakin, rule-breaking had never been his forte. But he nodded and sat back. "Okay, then. Let's go," he said.

Anakin needed no further telling, but began flying again, further into the forbidden zone. The hologram grew louder, an automated reaction to disobedience. "Warning! You have attempted to enter a restricted area of Alliance Space!"

They were moving fairly quickly now, space flying noiselessly past them. The nearly imperceptible thrum of the engines and the increasingly frantic voice of the holo-message were the only sounds in the cockpit. "Warning! You have attempted—"

Its message was cut off abruptly. The Jedi looked at each other, surprised, but none of them had caused it.

"Republic starship, please come in," crackled a cold voice over the commlink. This was no played-back record, but an actual sentient. "You have entered restricted Alliance space. If you do not turn back within thirty standard seconds, we will have no choice but to open fire—"

"Shut that thing off," Anakin snarled. Drin turned off all communications quickly. Now there was almost total silence—but only until the radar started beeping.

Anakin, accustomed to fighting in an ordinary Jedi starfighter, opened his mouth to instruct the Artoo unit before remembering that he didn't have one. Almost as soon as he heard the enemy units on the radar, he saw them as well, rising before him.

They were two of them, all of a very old model, so old that he was surprised even to see them. He recognized the design from a very long time ago: a small, round cockpit, barely large enough for one human, and two large, flat, vertical wings. The Republic had stopped manufacturing them long ago, despite their effectiveness in battle; they were flimsy and weakly defended, and the enormous loss of life was considered too high a cost.

And—oh yes—they were firing at him.

As soon as Anakin saw the green bolts shoot through the air, he reacted instinctively, as the Force told him. In a second his arm thrust forward, forcing the joystick down as far as it would go. The ship followed suit, plunging almost vertically downward without warning, and the bolts disintegrated in empty space.

Ferus's ragged breathing and Anakin's own heartbeat pounded in his ears, pulsating in time with the Force, which was like a drumbeat keeping him in rhythm with this deadly dance. He reacted without thinking, barely even aware what he was doing.

"…any weapons systems," Drin was murmuring to Ferus.

"Say that again," Anakin said, without turning his head.

"We don't have any weapons systems," Drin repeated, his voice remarkably—though not totally—calm. "And there are more of them coming, see?"

He was right. There had been two of them and now there were three, and one more could be seen coming up in the distance, just rounding the shadow of one of Morav's moons.

Ferus—"Where are they coming from?"

Drin—"They must have some kind of base nearby, probably on Morav."

Ferus—"Then we'll have to avoid them even after we land."

Anakin, who was only listening with half an ear, said suddenly, "We're almost there. I'm taking us down. Hang on." Ferus, having flown with Anakin before, did so immediately. Drin, less experienced, did not, and soon regretted that decision.

Morav was a tepid, humid planet, the kind of place that soldiers might be sent when they really screwed up. Its atmosphere didn't seem to be able to decide what it wanted to be, and so it had settled upon a halfhearted mixture of all sorts, with a climate that was hot and humid and impossible to enjoy, filled with scrub plants and short trees that did nobody any good. It was the perfect place for a prison, but it was a lousy place to land your ship.

As they swiftly descended their transport announced, through its usual means of communication (i.e. beeps), that it had found a single concentrated spot of life on Morav, and within moments they had a visual of a short brown prison compound. Anakin had managed to gather enough speed that when they finally landed beside it, the fighters were a few seconds behind them.

Guards in dark uniforms ran forward, shouting and pulling their blasters from their holster, but even before they reached the ship all three Jedi had left it, and were standing ready for battle. The guards hesitated when they saw their opponents, confused and frightened—taking on three armed Jedi was not something to be dealt with lightly.

"Drop your weapons and none of you will be harmed," Anakin announced brusquely. Beside him, he saw Drin glance up at the sky, where the fighters were coming round again toward them. Time was running short. The guards looked at one another uneasily. "Drop them!" Anakin barked.

One man at the front suddenly knelt and placed his blaster on the ground. Once the initiative was taken the rest followed suit, disarming themselves hastily. Ferus's hand stretched out, and Anakin heard the firing mechanisms of the weapons snapping in half one by one. Then there was an awful moment of indecision—they couldn't leave the guards alone, and there was no time to tie them up.

"I'll stay here," Ferus volunteered, knowing Anakin's thoughts.

"But the fighters—"

"I can protect myself. Go!"

Anakin nodded to Drin; they sprinted into the shadow of the compound just in time to hear a rain of blaster fire coming down on the area they had left only moments before. No time to look back, but Anakin heard no cry of pain.

Drin was already at the compound, using his lightsaber to cut his way laboriously through the locked triple-steel door. Anakin added his blade to the effort, and within seconds they had managed to produce a hole big enough for them to step awkwardly through, one at a time.

The Jedi were going inside the compound, leaving one of their own behind. Behind his black air mask, Pilot 84 frowned. The situation was getting more and more out of hand with each passing second. If the Jedi got within the compound—if they found their Master—

He signaled a pullback to the rest of the fighters, and they retreated a short distance, hanging in the air, waiting for their next command. But it did not come. Instead, 84 reached out a black gloved hand and changed the comm channel.

"Sir?"

Xakan answered from his office, his voice tense. "Yes? Have you got them?"

"No, sir," 84 answered. "They're in the compound already, sir. It will be a few minutes before they find the captive, but we can't stop them now. Not from up here, sir—and they're already holding half the guard outside."

"Shavvit," Xakan spat. He sat back in the dark leather chair, thin green lips pursed together angrily. He was thinking. After a few minutes more, he moved forward again to the comm unit. "Pilot, transmit orders to the compound guards, the ones still inside. Inform them that they must act sooner than expected."

There was a hesitant silence on the pilot's end, for 84 knew Xakan's meaning. "Sir, those were not the General's orders. He specifically said—"

"I know what the General's orders were!" barked Xakan. His skin flushed crimson, but he was not one to mindlessly vent his spleen upon hapless underlings. He calmed. "The Cluster's security is our first priority, and it is my responsibility. I will tell the General something, and you will not be punished for this. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir. Squadron moving out."

The comm channel crackled into silence, and Xakan sat back once again, his fingers pressed to his temples.

This was not supposed to happen. Blasted Jedi! But the Falleen quickly found his species' cold-blooded composure. He could manage Grievous's anger. He had done so before, and always successfully. After all, he and the General were old friends. Hadn't Grievous stressed his trust by making a point of never visiting the Perlemian Sector, never bothering to find out what went on inside it? That was Xakan's responsibility, and Grievous honored that.

Of course, in this case, that fact might end up working against the Falleen, as now all blame for the situation could go nowhere but on Xakan's shoulders.

The door opened into a narrow hallway, so tight that Anakin and Drin could not go side by side through it. Further on it opened up a bit, with a few wooden chairs scattered over the floor for the guards' use, and then closed back up into nothing but steel doors on either side of the hall, thinly spaced and thick.

Anakin shut his eyes and groped with the Force, trying to connect through the smells of urine and sweat and heat that floated around the hallway. From behind, Drin looked at him anxiously.

"I can't find her," Anakin said, shaking his head.

"Then we'll just have to open all of these doors," Drin said resolutely.

"No, there's no time!"

"There's nothing else we can do," Drin pointed out. In one quick step he ignited his lightsaber again and plunged it into the steel. He made a hole the size of his fist, then knelt and peered through it. "Master Allie!" he shouted. Nothing.

"It's empty," Drin said, standing. Anakin looked away and sighed.

"Keep trying," he said. "You take that side of the hallway, I'll take this one."

They made their way laboriously down the hallway, counting off doors, hoping every time they made a new hole and being let down every time there was no reply to their call. Anakin thought of Ferus, winced, hoping that his friend was still safe.

"There's someone in here!" Drin announced suddenly. Anakin whirled. "I can't see them very clearly, though, and they're not answering me."

Anakin squinted through the hole. Through the very corner he could see a figure lying with its back toward them, covered in blurry, drab brown. "Master Allie!" There was no answer. Anakin shoved Drin's arm. "That's got to be her," he said urgently. "We've got to get—"

"Stop, in the name of the Alliance!"

The voice echoed down the hallway. Anakin couldn't see the source, but he could hear that it came from the area from which they'd just come. Footsteps were coming fast around the corner. There was no time to rescue the person in this cell. Helpless and frustrated, Anakin hissed, "Run!" and Drin did, Anakin close behind.

There was no doubt that the guards could hear them as they ran, turning corners with haphazard carelessness. Their boots pounded against the hard floors, and the sound radiated out for all to hear. Their only hope was to circle back, rescue Master Allie, and get her out of there while still avoiding the guards.

And even while Anakin was thinking all of this, he felt Drin's hand pulling at his arm, slowing them down.

"What are you—"

"Look."

Drin's face bore a very strange expression. Reluctantly—but there was no time!—Anakin turned back to face the way they had come and saw what Drin did: spattered drops of blood, trailing a path in the creases and wrinkles of the stone on the floor, leading from an open cell door to turn a corner they had not yet taken. In blind haste, Anakin had almost missed it. What they saw when they turned the corner was no surprise; time, which only a second ago had been frantically rushing, now seemed to go very still.

Master Allie had always been beautiful. Serenity in the Force could do that to a woman, even one with less to work with than Stass Allie. But now her lovely, dark face was covered with dirt and filth as she lay awkwardly on the ground, her features disfigured by an ugly expression of anger and fear and locked in that position by death. Her robes were torn, revealing a shudderingly emaciated frame, and her lightsaber was not on her belt.

The blood leaked from a deep cut on the back of her leg, and from another in her chest. A Jedi Master was dead.

The shock of the thought left Anakin numb and compliant. When the guards came around, warily raising their weapons and shouting warnings though they were less than two feet away, neither Jedi resisted. Of all the outcomes possible, they had never thought of this.

The guards led them out of the compound and back into the sunlight, so bright that Anakin squinted and turned away. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Ferus sitting in the compound's shadow, out of the sun. His lightsaber was ignited and trained on the dozen guards, who stood awkwardly by the ship and didn't seem to have any intentions of moving. When Ferus saw them, his eyes widened, but he did not stand.

"Anakin, what happened?" he demanded, pushing himself up on his arms. Two dark-garbed guards stepped forward and grabbed him, forcing him roughly to his feet, and then Anakin saw why he had not risen at their exit. Ferus's left boot was a mess of leather and blood—Anakin cringed at the sight. The guards brought him to stand closer to the other Jedi, and Ferus repeated his desperate question, "What's going on?"

"You lot!" shouted one of the guards that had just exited the compound to the group that was only recently freed. "Come help watch these three. Can't trust these Jedi."

In a tentative voice, one of the former hostages stepped forward to explain why not a one of his group had functioning weapons.

"She's dead," Anakin said, his voice low and dark. His face turned away, and Ferus understood that they had failed.